


chandelier

by Xyletic



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, very minor Trespasser spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:45:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4822673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyletic/pseuds/Xyletic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suspending a grown Vashoth from a ceiling fixture was never going to end well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	chandelier

"I don't think this is going to hold me." Adaar says, eyeing the creaking chandelier with caution.

It's an ancient, candlewax-encrusted monstrosity. The chains holding it to the ceiling are rust-flecked and far too thin for his taste, and they're already groaning ominously at his added weight; somehow, he suspects no-one involved in its creation designed its load bearing capabilities to stand up to two creative qunari.

Shocking oversight there.

The hand winding rope around his ankle stills and Bull looks up, his eye glinting in the light. "You want to stop?"

Deadly serious, as always when it comes to these matters. Adaar knows he could say yes, or give the watchword, and the ropes would be off quicker than they went on. It wouldn't be the end of tonight's games, of course; they're both already too worked up for that.

He considers for a moment - _compared to dragons, demons, and ancient god-monsters, what's the worst interior decoration can do_?- then meets Bull's gaze and grins wide. "No." he says. "But if this thing comes down around our ears, you get to tell Josephine."

"Done."

 

The scream of tortured masonry and metal is probably audible in the stables. Adaar's full-throated laughter as Bull frees him from the wreckage of the chandelier is probably audible in the Anderfels; by the time the last of the ropes fall away he's dissolved into shoulder-quaking, near-silent hysterics, little hissing bursts of laughter escaping from between his teeth.

"Glad you're enjoying this, kadan." Bull says, a smile pulling at the edge of his own lips.

Adaar sits down with an unceremonious thump on the edge of the bed. "You know," he says, reaching up to wipe his streaming eyes "if someone had told me years ago 'Adaar, one day you're going to fall in love with someone who seriously suggests hanging from an antique chandelier while you have sex, and you're going to go through with it ...'" He trails off, shaking his head, and stretches out his hand.

"C'mere."

His voice is soft and laced with fondness, and Bull finds his smile spreading of its own accord as he settles himself on the bed and takes the offered hand, brushing his fingers across the raised ridge of scar on the palm. Adaar shivers at the touch, but there's no emerald flare from the mark and no pained pulling away. One of the _really_ good days, then; even if they don't talk about it much, they both know these are getting few and far apart. Adaar's left hand has taken on the permanent bitter scent of the elfroot salve he uses to keep the worst of it at bay, but elfroot has its limits.

So do people, as Bull knows all too well. Adaar might conceal the extent of the pain from the others, but it's hard to hide anything from the person he sleeps beside most nights, especially when that person is a former Ben-Hassrath agent and 'anything' involves lurching awake with livid green fire crackling from palm to wrist. Times like that make Bull's own hands ache for something to _do_ , some monster to fight or ancient elven puzzle to solve that will turn the anchor into a distant memory. With Solas gone along with all his answers, and not rejoining them any time soon by the looks of things, all they can do is take the good days and make the best of them.

"Hey." Adaar says, nudging Bull gently and pulling him close. "Still with me?"

"... Always, kadan."


End file.
